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The earth is bright and dewy-fresh
As Dian, risen from her bath,
While, just released from slumber's mesh,
I fare me down a flowery path.


I pass between the clover fields
Where sleek, slow-moving cattle graze;
I seek the joys which Nature yields
To him who knows her pleasant ways.


I go where honeysuckles blow,
And climb with them the rocks I love;
A world of green spreads out below,
A wider world of blue above.


And many a sturdy, stately elm,
And many a proud, ancestral oak,
Deep in the forest's shady realm,
Hold tuneful choirs of feathered folk.


I gaze, and all is fair to see--
I listen, and the songs are good;
My singers are of high degree,
The prima donnas of the wood.


Here, then, I find my concert-hall,
My columned temple and my shrine,
God's perfect handiwork--and all
To draw me nearer the divine.